Sword in Snow
by Cugami
Summary: Nataku slept and dreamt of snow. And in his dream, he held a sword.


**Title:** Sword in Snow  
**Author:** cugami  
**Fandom:** Saiyuki  
**Type:** gen   
**characters:** Nataku and Homura  
**Rating:** PG  
**Disclaimer:** Saiyuki © Minekura Kazuya and Enix Co. The "Sword" and "Snow" idea was inspired by watching Hero and I adore Broken Sword and Flying Snow. The characters from Hero have no semblance in this ficlet but I just felt the need to mention what inspired the elements in this piece.  
**challenge:** beginning and ending for the no beginning and no ending in **temps_mort**  
**Notes:** Used all 60 minutes to stare and think and type this. This gave me a headache. Homura never showed up in the manga and Nataku didn't even blink in the anime series. I wanted to write this while staying in a canon universe where Homura wants to destroy heaven and create a world with no gods in it, and Nataku is a god who once protected heaven from any possible assault (until he became a vegetable sitting in his throne as shown in the series). Now you know why this is a piece with a pounding headache.   
  


* * *

  
It was the beginning of winter and the snow had just started to fall. Fallen leaves that once graced the courtyard lost their luster and bleached into white as the small crystals piled up on the ground.   
  
Like the change of season, his golden eyes that carried the melancholy of autumn grew cold. They watched the falling leaves before and the soft sepia of time once reflected from his eyes. Now as the snow fell, the white and cold winter began to settle in the pools of tainted gold.   
  
He left his perch, entering the snow covered courtyard. All was white, his robe, his skin, the ground, the trees, the skies, everything around him except his eyes and black locks tied in a simple knot on his head. He stretched out his hand, the palm facing heaven. He watched as a small hump of white gathered in his cupped hand.   
  
Curling his fingers, he molded the irregular knob of snow into a ball. He tossed the snow ball above him and watched it disappear in the background of the white skies. His flicked his wrist and the sound of metal against stone echoed in his ears. It was the familiar sound of his sword leaving its jade scabbard that he had grown accustomed to.   
  
His eyes never left where the snow ball had disappeared to, still looking up. He could not see the shape of the ball but he could hear its decent, feel the lessening distance between his face and the mass of snow. He stood there in silence, waiting.  
  
And in one swift move, he slashed his sword in an upward stroke. Its sharp edge met the snow and sliced the ball in half. It fell on each of his sides; he stood in between holding the sword firmly before him. This is his stance, sword in hand and its tip pointing at his invisible foe.   
  
A warrior god, gift to the heavens that guaranteed every entity in that blessed realm the safety of eternity. Through him, his sword and skill, he was born to kill those who would disobey and threaten.  
  
He danced in the whiteness, and the blade in his hand faded into a blur of gleaming metal against falling snow as he slashed through thin air with a skill unbeatable by any mortal or god. His robe fluttered weightlessly with each move he made, like a flurry of cotton and silk in a timeless loop. Each step of his foot dug in snow but none of which hindered the smooth glide of his body from one stance to another.  
  
Nataku slept and dreamt of snow. And in his dream, he held a sword.  
  
Homura slept and dreamt of blood. And in his dream, he held a boy.  
  
Between his chained wrists lay the boy that never woke but still had the dull eyes of gold open. Not a sign of recognition or life flickered from those eyes, and yet a hand moved.   
  
From this boy's grasp was a sword, slowly being raised for Homura to see.  
  
His hand reached for the handle, long and slender fingers twining with shorter ones yet at the same time, stronger.   
  
No time passed in this dream. It was just him, this god in his arms, a sword they both hold and the pool of blood that surrounded them. Both unmoving but Homura could feel the touch of cold metal, an invisible sword tip under his chin. And though Nataku did not move nor blink, Homura knew that a sword tip also pointed at this youthful warrior god.   
  
Warm blood began to flood the cold snow. Two sword tips penetrating through the lines each man stood for. Gods need no words of comfort or understanding, that's what they were. Like this sword, a weapon. They had never met in the worlds of gods and mortals but in their dreams, they shared a pact. This pact of winter blood laid a boy and a man, soaked in melting red snow.   
  
Homura would destroy heaven.  
  
Nataku would protect heaven.


End file.
